Comme Elle Vient
by bitemebirdie
Summary: This is the sequel to Oooh Oliver. It was written in the stars that Oliver and Alison meet again. What does fate have in store for this pair of "star crossed lovers"? Read and find out...
1. Default Chapter

            Alison tried not to wince at the inevitable question posed by the reporter. Ever since she had burst onto the music scene five years earlier, her love life had been of great interest to witches and wizards alike. The fact that no reporter seemed to be able to "unearth the dirt" on her led to them manufacturing the most bizarre rumors, rumors that Alison had learnt with time to take with a pinch of salt. When her first three singles were consecutive chart toppers, reporters on both sides of the Atlantic began to sit up and take notice of this promising young star. Unfortunately, with the fame and the recognition came a total loss of privacy. It hadn't taken the reporters long to uncover her relationship with Oliver Wood, and what had ensued was possibly the most trying month of her entire career. Everywhere she went, reporters had badgered her with inquiries as to why she had abandoned the relationship. Alison had quickly learnt that the way to deal with such questions was with a casual toss of the head and a nonchalant acknowledgement that her relationship with Oliver Wood had been nothing more than a casual fling. Initially, such statements had caused her great grief and she spent several sleepless nights tossing and turning in bed, wondering if she had made the right decision, wondering if perhaps she had been wrong not to stay and try to put things right with Oliver. But such doubts had wearied of reappearing when they were promptly dispelled without any consideration at all and now, Alison felt nothing as she said Oliver's name. She had convinced herself that her relationship with Oliver had, indeed, been of no significance to her or to him, for that matter. But the feelings that she believed she had destroyed, were, in fact, locked away in the farthest, deepest reaches of her soul. Little did she know that life was about to present her with the key to that lock. 

            The reporter looked at her expectantly, hoping to succeed where all those before her had failed. But as Alison delivered her well-rehearsed line, the reporter's face fell. After five years, she ought to have known better than to try and find out about Alison's love life, but in the end, she had yielded to the overwhelming temptation to ask the same question that had been directed at Alison Adams an indeterminable number of times. 

            No sooner had the reporter left than Alison's manager, Paul stepped into the room. 

'How'd it go?' he asked, 'did they ask about Oliver again?'

Alison averted her eyes and nodded. 

'It doesn't matter anyway…' she muttered, 'he means nothing to me…nothing at all.'

Paul nodded. He had heard this many times before and had come to accept that Alison would never let anyone penetrate the barrier she had built up around herself, not even Paul, who had been closer to her than most anyone else over the previous few years. 

'Oh, by the way,' he said, 'a letter arrived for you when you were at the interview…'

'Paul…you know I'm sick of answering fan mail…cant you ––' 

'Not fan mail…it's from England, from your father.' 

Alison held out her hand for the letter, and Paul handed it to her. Without a word, he left the room, leaving Alison alone in the room with the letter. 

*****

            Oliver's eyes fluttered open. He groaned softly as a wave of nausea hit him. He rolled over onto his side and stared blearily at the dark haired woman lying next to him. Try as he might, he could not remember her name. 

*Shit*, he thought. *Shit, I never thought it would come to this. I can't even remember her fucking name*

He slid out of bed, and gently pulled the covers back over the woman's naked form. His head throbbed and spun like a carousel ride. 

*Wow, I must have had more to drink than usual last night. My head hasn't throbbed this way since…since that night when Alison–* 

His thoughts were interrupted from going down that painfully familiar path by the woman's seductive voice from behind him. He looked around at her. Her tousled dark hair framed her face like a cloud and she winked alluringly at him. Oliver felt a pulse of desire flow through him. But no longer was he inebriated enough to fool himself into thinking that what he was doing was his birthright. He was playing with women now, just as Cedric had at Hogwarts. He couldn't even remember her name, for Christ's sake. 

            Almost as if Oliver's thoughts had summoned him, there came a knock at the door. Without waiting for permission, Cedric pushed open the door and grinned inanely at the brunette lying in bed. 

'What will the tabloids say?' mocked Cedric. 'I can see the front page of the Daily Prophet… "The Captain's True Love". And about time too, Wood! It's been five years –'

'I don't even know her fucking name', muttered Oliver under his breath, glancing uneasily back at the girl who was now lounging on his bed. 

Cedric's face dropped. 

'Ahhh…well, that's a bit awkward then, isn't it?' 

Oliver glared daggers at him and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Cedric looked over at the girl, and noticed to his chagrin that she looked more than a little disgruntled at Oliver's callous behaviour. He smiled consolingly at her, but she had evidently had enough. 

'Turn away, would you?' she snapped.

Cedric obliged, and behind him, he heard her slipping out of bed and into her clothes. She then brushed by him, and walked out of the hotel room looking positively murderous. Cedric groaned. The last thing Oliver needed was for another scandal to hit him. Over the past five years, Oliver had consistently made the headlines, first as Alison Adams' ex-boyfriend and then later, as the archetypal playboy who couldn't seem to give a hoot about commitment. So far, the publicity hadn't hurt the public's perception of Oliver significantly, but Cedric couldn't help but wonder how long their goodwill towards him would last. Oliver himself had brushed aside the scandals and ploughed on. If there was one thing that the excessive drinking and one-night stands hadn't affected, it was Oliver's complete devotion to Quidditch. And as the England Captain, he had plenty on his plate, especially now that the World Cup was hovering on the horizon. The last thing he needed was anything that could possible divert his attention. Which was why Cedric wanted to make sure that Oliver didn't read the newspaper that day. 

*****


	2. Chapter 2

Alison curled up on the enormous sofa in the corner of the hotel room. Her hands trembled as she ripped open the seal on the letter. For the past five years, her father's letters had arrived as regularly as clockwork at the end of every month. 

*But today's the 15th * she thought worriedly. *Why would he write in the middle of the month?* 

She unfolded the letter and read it through. Her eyes widened with shock as her mind registered the content of the letter. She rubbed her eyes disbelievingly and read the letter through again. Finally, she put the letter down. Her only thought was to get to a copy of that day's newspaper. 

'PAUL!' she yelled. 'PAUL!!!!!!'

The door burst open and a panting Paul appeared in the doorway, his wand brandished like a drawn sword. His eyes swept around the room, and when he could find no intruder, he lowered his wand and narrowed his eyes at Alison.

'You hollered, madam?' he asked sarcastically. 

Ignoring his tone, Alison hissed, 'When EXACTLY were you planning on telling me about the story in today's newspaper?'

'No-one said that you were not to read the newspaper. All you had to do was ask for it,' replied Paul evasively.

Alison opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it again in exasperation. Silly arguments were Paul's forte. He could twist her words around like nobody else could and she invariably ended up losing any verbal contest. 

'Could I please see the newspaper, Paul?' she asked in as sweet a voice as she could muster. 

'Certainly, Ally.'

Moments later, Alison was alone in her room again, this time holding the newspaper in her hand, her mouth open with shock and frustration. "Alison Adams to sing at World Cup" proclaimed the headlines in glaring block letters. She collapsed onto the bed and groaned under her breath. Paul came in and sat next to her on the bed. 

'I told you that it would be impossible to keep it a secret. Why would you WANT to keep it a secret?' he asked.

'Because…because the last thing I need is to see anyone from my past.'

'Like Oliver Wood?'

'NO!' she exclaimed vehemently. 'I couldn't care less about him. I meant…other people like…my father…and Harry too. I don't need to see them now, not when I'm just starting to get used to them not being around.' 

'And now they know…' added Paul sympathetically. 'And that's what your father's letter was about?'

'Yeah…he was trying to sound calm about it, but he was really excited, I could tell.' She paused for a moment and then said 'Paul?'

'Yeah?'

'Is there any way I can back out of this deal now?'

Paul shook his head sadly but firmly. 

'Do you not love him at all, Ally? Your father, I mean' he asked. 

'What?!?! I DO! I love him so much. He wasn't around for most of my childhood and it was like they were driving a stake deeper into my soul when people told me that he was…'

'That he was what?'

'All right, Paul. I'll go to England. I'll sing at the World Cup…'

Paul sighed. This was a common fixture of his conversations with Alison. Every time he brought up her father, or Oliver, or England for that matter, she would simply clam up, or as she had in this case, change the subject entirely. 

*****

Cedric glanced down at the crumpled newspaper in his hands. The headlines all over the world were the same, Cedric knew, for he had checked. And the last thing that Oliver needed was to know that in four short days, Alison would be back in the country for the first time in five years. 

As he watched Oliver stumbling around the room, grumbling about a headache and searching in vain for his shoes that Cedric knew were under the bed, he wondered for the millionth time what had gone so horribly wrong between Oliver and Alison. When Cedric had heard that the two had gone their separate ways, his utter shock and disbelief had known no bounds. The next day, he had arrived in Puddlemere only to find Oliver in an alcohol-induced stupor in his living room. But although in the time that had passed since that day, Oliver and Cedric had grown closer than brothers, the latter had never managed to unearth the secret of that fateful day. 

Cedric was startled from his thoughts by a knock at the door. When he opened the door, it was to find Harry standing in the doorway looking as anxious as Cedric felt. Glancing over his shoulder to ensure that Oliver wouldn't see his next gesture, Cedric shook his head silently and placed his finger on his lips.  

'He doesn't know yet…and Harry, tell the team to keep quiet about it. The last thing we need is for Oliver to go off on another alcohol binge –' whispered Cedric.

'What's going on? Who is it?' called Oliver from the bedroom.

'It's just me,' replied Harry, in a forced voice.

'Harry! Come on in…Christ, you look tense. Is something the matter?' asked Oliver. 

'You're not ill, are you?' he added anxiously. 

'No, no, I'm fine. I…uh, I was just bored in my room, so I decided to come see what you were doing' lied Harry quickly. Fortunately for him, Oliver didn't notice the hesitation in his voice. 

'You haven't seen the paper anywhere, have you?' asked Oliver distractedly. 'There should be an article in there on the press conference I gave yesterday.'

Both Cedric and Harry suffered a momentary pang of panic as Oliver looked around the chaotic room for that day's newspaper. Disgruntled when he couldn't find it, he started to make his way down to the reception to insist that they send up a newspaper to his room. Cedric looked around the room frantically as he tried to come up with some reason why Oliver should stay in the room, and almost by some form of divine intervention, he caught sight of the previous day's newspaper lying in the wastepaper basket, looking entirely untouched. Hoping that Oliver wouldn't bother to check the date on the newspaper, he reached for it with a forced chuckle. 

'You threw it away, you idiot. Honestly, Oliver, I worry about your sanity' he said as he handed a very confused Oliver the previous day's newspaper. And then, before Oliver could notice the date, the two walked out of the room with promises to meet Oliver downstairs in an hour. Oliver watched them leave bemusedly. 

*That's strange* he thought. *I don't remember throwing this away! I must really be losing my mind. That would NOT do! * And with that, Oliver let the whole thing slip and his mind wandered back to the more important matters at hand, namely the preparations for the Quidditch Cup Final that was to be played in four days. 

*****

'Hadn't you better start packing, Ally?' asked Paul tentatively when he walked into her room to find her reading a book. 

When Alison merely grunted in reply, Paul sighed loudly and pulled her trunk out from under the large bed. He then turned around and stared expectantly at Alison. When he still received no response, he decided to resort to more subtle measures in order to get Alison to pack her bags. 

'I'll pack for you then,' he said loudly and moved his hand to undo the large brass buckle on the suitcase. In the twinkling of an eye, Alison stood beside him and pushed his hand away. Trying to hide his amusement, Paul shrugged and walked out of the room, leaving Alison to do the packing.

Alison glared after him. Just as he always did, Paul had managed to get his way again. Alison muttered grumpily under her breath as she struggled to undo the old buckle on the suitcase. She hadn't opened this particular suitcase since she had arrived in America five years earlier and had used it to stow her warm clothes, clothes that she had not needed in the sunny climes of America, clothes that she would need now that she was returning to England. 

Suddenly, without warning, the buckle gave way and the trunk sprang open. A little startled, Alison stepped backwards onto a magazine that was lying open on the ground. The next thing she knew, she was lying on her back staring up at the ceiling of her room. Wincing as she got up, she glared at the trunk, partially convinced that the stars were conspiring against her. She summoned a newer, empty trunk from the other room and then began to transfer the warm clothes into it. She had half emptied the old trunk when she came upon a pair of ragged socks. 

*Why on earth did I keep that?* she thought to herself as she threw them over her shoulder. The socks hit the wall and then fell to the ground behind her. But in addition to the soft thud that Alison had been expecting, there came a slightly metallic clink as the socks fell to the ground. Puzzled, Alison turned to see what had made the unexpected noise. Her pulse accelerated and her breath caught in her throat when she saw the slender silver chain that Oliver had given her on a moonlit night so many years earlier. 

            The rational part of her brain told her to throw it away, to keep her resolution to herself not to dwell on the past, but Alison had never felt less inclined to listen to the voice of reason within her head. She stared at the chain for a few seconds, almost as though she were willing it to speak to her, to tell her what to do, but when it remained silent, she let her instincts take over. She bent down and picked up the chain. The silver felt cool and smooth against her skin and memories of the night when it had first rested against her skin threatened to overwhelm her. Almost as a compromise, Alison tucked it back into the old socks, which she then tossed into the trunk that she was packing. She then continued to pack, pushing all thoughts of the past firmly from her head.

*It's a nice chain. That's the only reason I'm keeping it. It has no sentimental value whatsoever* she argued silently. 

*Tsk, tsk* said a small voice within her head. *You really shouldn't lie to yourself, Alison*

'Oh, sod off!' she cried out loud, and then chuckled. 

*Wow, I'm talking to myself now. I must really be going nuts* she thought. 

*****


	3. Chapter 3

            Oliver's eyes fluttered open in shock as he heard her voice in his ear. His first thought was that he was hallucinating again, that the stress of the upcoming World Cup was pushing him round the bend. But then he heard another person's voice and his mind snapped to attention. The voices weren't really in the room, he realized. They were coming from the WWN. Oliver held his breath as he listened to the voice that he had come to know better than he knew his own. 

_"How does it feel to be back in the __UK__ again?"_ the interviewer asked. 

_"To be honest, I hadn't realized how much I'd missed it until I got in this morning"_

_"What would you say you missed the most?"_

Oliver held his breath, hoping against all hope that she would mention him somewhere, anywhere, even in the most negative sense, just as an acknowledgement of his existence. But he was bitterly disappointed with her response. 

_"English breakfasts!" _replied Alison, without the slightest hesitation. "_Bacon, and eggs and toast dripping with butter"_

_"And not a certain someone?__ A certain Quidditch player, perhaps?" _probed the interviewer. 

Alison's tone, that until then had been relaxed and friendly, took on a distinctly chilly edge. _"I assume you are referring to my former relationship with Oliver Wood. I've said this a thousand times before, but obviously I haven't made it clear enough. So let me say this again. Oliver Wood and I were never in love. It was a purely physical relationship that ended because the both of us decided that the chemistry between us had faded. And no, it is not about to be rekindled simply because I'm going to stand on the same Quidditch field as he is for about five minutes."_

_"Indeed…then perhaps it is safe to assume that your pregnancy was the result of this "purely physical relationship" as you call it going awry?"_

There was a stunned silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity. 

_"Perhaps," _mused the interviewer smugly, _"Perhaps you didn't understand the question…or perhaps you are wondering how and when your well kept secret was unearthed."_

Oliver sat up in bed and waving his wand, muttered a spell under his breath. Immediately, Alison's voice grew louder, and Oliver felt an irrational rage towards the interviewer as he heard Alison's voice trembling. 

"The answer to the second question does intrigue me…" 

_"An anonymous source from the hospital you were admitted at provided us with the information, in exchange for a princely sum of money, it must be said…Now let me ask again, was the pregnancy a result of your relationship with Oliver Wood? Or was there another man…another man that might have been the cause behind the disintegration of your relationship with Oliver Wood."_

_"There was no other man–"_

Oliver didn't wait to hear the rest. With a swift jab of his wand, he turned off the WWN. He couldn't believe that after all of these years she was still clinging to the same lie she had told five years earlier. 

He stood up and marched to the door, pulled it open and then made his way down the corridor to Cedric's room. 

*How could he have not told me about Alison being back in the country?* he fumed inwardly. 

*Because he was worried you would react exactly the way you're reacting right now…like a total maniac* he answered himself. 

*And how could she lie …on the air? How could she still be lying after all this time?* 

*Maybe she's not lying…maybe she was telling the truth the whole time…maybe the child WAS yours. It has been known to happen. Maybe you were in the wrong!* his conscience countered. 

Oliver stopped in midstride halfway along the corridor to Cedric's room. In the past five years, he had never let himself go far enough along this path to reach this conclusion. He leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes.

*But I can't be wrong…I heard Brett talking to Mark about Alison. I heard them!* he insisted. Even after all these years, he could hear the conversation in his head. He straightened up and shook his head. 

*I wasn't wrong. She did sleep with Brett…and even if the child was mine, she WAS unfaithful to me…so I cant have been wrong.* 

With that, he began his purposeful march back to Cedric's room, fully intending to demand why he hadn't been informed of Alison's presence in England. 

*****

"There was no other man. I would never do that to Oliver–"Alison's voice broke, and she could feel the tears threatening to overwhelm her. 

"You say that the thought of cheating on Oliver never crossed your mind? And yet, you insist that yours was a purely physical relationship with no emotional strings attached?", the reporter persisted. 

Alison hesitated. She realized that whatever she said now would be of little consequence. The damage had already been done and she could only hope that fewer people had been listening to the show than had been predicted. 

"Was your relationship with Oliver Wood a physical one, or an emotional one?", asked the interviewer again. 

"It was a physical relationship that was based on a friendship that we had established when we were at school together. That's all I have to say on the matter" Alison finally replied. 

"How convenient" mused the interviewer, letting that statement hang in the air for a few seconds. "Unfortunately", and for the first time, she truly sounded apologetic, "that is all the time we have today. This is Cindy Davenport for WWN, signing off."

            Alison stormed out of the room without bothering to bid farewell to Cindy. Paul, who had been sitting outside said nothing as he followed her out of the building and into the street. As they walked along in silence, Paul chanced a glance at Alison and saw, to his distress that she was clenching and unclenching her jaw furiously. Her hands were balled into fists, and Paul could see the muscles in her arms tensing. In the five years that he had known her, he couldn't remember her ever being as distraught. Not that she didn't have good reason. 

"I'm sure nobody would have heard that broadcast" said Paul reassuringly. 

"I can't believe we didn't see that question coming, Paul!" snarled Alison.

"Well, in all fairness Ally, I didn't know that you were ever pregnant," he hesitated and then decided to forge ahead. "After all, I know next to nothing about your life in England. I don't know who your friends were, if you were an alcoholic…I don't even know why you left Oliver. And then there's the huge mystery with your father, the father whom you claim to love and yet…yet, you avoid him like the plague. The prospect of seeing him again seems to fill you with nothing but dread."

He stopped and looked at Alison. He took her hand and whispered, "You're running, Alison. Anyone can see that…but how do you expect me to help you when I don't know what you're running from." 

Alison pulled her hand away from Paul's and attempted a watery smile. 

"I guess I like having a friend who knows nothing about my past" she joked, but when she saw the serious expression on Paul's face, she added, "not yet, Paul…I'm not ready to tell you just yet…but I will…soon, but just not yet."

She walked on ahead of him. Watching her retreating back, Paul muttered, "and I will wait patiently, just like I have been for the past five years. All I hope is that you're worth it, Alison Adams."

*****


	4. Chapter 4

"It slipped your mind???" hissed Oliver. "How could it slip your mind to tell me that…that she was back in England?"

Neither Cedric nor Harry said anything and the silence seemed to further infuriate Oliver. He clenched his fists in anger and Cedric wondered how close Oliver was to punching either himself or Harry. 

"What were you thinking? How could you think I wouldn't find out about it? If nothing else, I would have seen her at the final tomorrow. How could you NOT tell me?" Oliver growled, his eyes boring unrelentingly into first Cedric's and then Harry's. 

"We didn't want to upset you…" replied Harry calmly. 

"I'M NOT UPSET!" Oliver yelled. 

Both Harry and Cedric looked quizzically at him. Ignoring them, Olive continued to rant. 

"I'm going to have to give some sort of press conference. This is the last f**king thing I need." 

"Then why don't you just pretend she isn't here? Just go about your business as usual. You don't even have to talk to her if you don't want to" reasoned Cedric. 

Oliver looked at him with an inscrutable expression on his face. Then, without a word, he turned and walked out of the room. Cedric collapsed onto the bed, sighing with relief. 

"That went a whole lot better than I thought it would," said Cedric. 

Harry, on the other hand, looked slightly worried. Turning to Cedric, he asked, "Do you think there was another man, like that interviewer suggested?"

"I don't know…" Cedric replied, "but I find it hard to believe…Alison loved Oliver. I don't think she ever looked at another man–," he hesitated and then said, 'then again, I didn't think Oliver would ever stop loving Alison…but now–"

"I think Oliver still loves Alison as much as he ever did. That would explain why the only women he ever sleeps with are brunettes. I don't think that's a coincidence…there must have been another man…betrayal is the only thing that could have separated them" said Harry.

The two fell silent and absent mindedly, Harry turned on the WWN to hear the end of a news bulletin. 

"_In other news, Puddlemere United seeker Brett Lee has been rushed to the hospital after he fell some 63 feet from a broomstick during an exhibition match at Puddlemere. The latest reports from the hospital state that Lee is still in a state of unconsciousness and although all his breaks have been mended, he is to keep off the Quidditch field for at least 3 weeks..."_

Harry and Cedric murmured sympathetically, but didn't pay too much attention to the rest of the bulletin. Miles away, Alison sat upright in her chair at this news and made up her mind to go visit Brett as soon as possible. 

*****

            Oliver couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned in bed, getting increasingly frustrated as time went by. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, he threw off the covers and rolled out of bed. He walked to the windows and groaned to himself. The skies were laden with ominously dark clouds that told of the violent downpour to come. From where he stood at his window, Oliver could see far off flashes of lightning and prayed that they would come no nearer. He breathed in the chilly morning air and reflected on this, his day of reckoning, on how far he had come since Hogwarts. At exactly six o'clock, the WWN came on, in accordance with commands that Oliver had issued a few days earlier. His attention wavered as the news broadcaster told of the trouble in the Americas as the Dark Lord conquered a continent with a smaller magical community. He sympathized with them, and knew that it was only a matter of time before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returned to England, his country of origin, but to Oliver at that point in time, the only thing that mattered was the World Cup.

            Oliver snapped to attention as the newsreader finished up with the latest on the Quidditch World Cup finals to be held later that day. He listened in dismay as she predicted a violent thunderstorm that night and cautioned the listeners to prepare themselves for more than a little bit of rain. But his dismay turned to apprehension as the newsreader added, almost as an afterthought, that Brett Lee was conscious again. Not having heard the previous bulletin concerning Brett's injury, it took Oliver a few minutes of frantic hunting in the previous day's newspaper to find a small article on the incident. He skimmed through it and all the feelings of betrayal and rage that he had suppressed over the past five years rose to the surface like a blinding cloud. Alison was back, and now Brett was in the news. It was as though his past that he had been running from for the past five years was finally closing in on him. 

            He thought back to what Cedric had suggested, that he avoid Alison at all costs, and again, felt the same pang of hurt that he had felt in Cedric's room the previous night when he had first heard the suggestion. Whatever he might say to the rest of the world, Oliver could no longer deny to himself that the prospect of seeing Alison again set his pulse racing. He could no longer deny to himself that he wanted, more than anything else, to see her again. But deny it, he must, for the sake of his sanity. But within the reaches of his soul, he knew that he was sanest when he stood side by side with the only woman who had ever touched his heart. 

*****

            Alison drew in her breath, and then began to sing the last stanza with all the passion that she had felt when she had initially written the song. And for this last stanza, the whole stadium joined in as the music reached its crescendo. 

_"And they say that a hero can save us, _

_I'm not gonna stand here and wait._

_I hold onto the wings of the eagles,_

_And watch as they all fly away._

_And they're watching us (watching),_

_They're WATCHING us, (watching)_

_As we all fly away…woaaaahh"_

Wild clapping ensued as Alison walked off the makeshift stage before the start of the finals of the Quidditch World Cup, having sung her latest single. When she had first stepped onto the stage that night, the crowd had screamed with delight, and now as she left, the crowd was screaming again, but this time with disappointment at the fact that she had sung only one song. Alison didn't smile, though. When she had walked onto the field, she couldn't keep herself from scanning the field, with something akin to hope burning within her being. It took her a minute to realize that the neither the England team nor the Chinese team for that matter, had come onto the field yet. And with that realization came a sinking depression in the pit of her stomach. 

            She jogged off the field to the resounding applause, not stopping to watch the display by the team mascots. She felt the compelling desire to leave the stadium. Paul had instructed her to come up to the Top Box once she had finished singing, but watching the match was the last thing that Alison wanted to do. On a sudden impulse, she decided that she would visit Brett. After all, she had, through various sources, found out the name of the hospital where Brett was admitted. She also knew that he would be there, as he had been given strict instructions not to move from his bed for at least two weeks. 

*****


	5. Chapter 5

            Harry stared unblinkingly at the cold stone floor. Alone in the changing room, he cut a solitary figure, his knees drawn up to his chest and his head bowed in defeat. He could still hear the crowd screaming, groaning…booing. He could still see the look of disbelief and denial on Oliver's face, as his dream was snatched away from him. Harry could still feel the sting of the rain against his face as it pelted down on the ground. And even now, two hours after the end of the match, he could smell the pungent soil, almost as if he were still down on his knees in the muck.  

*What a difference one inch makes,* thought Harry bitterly. The rest of the team had left, and although they had tried not to show it, they had been crushed. 

*They're probably half-drunk at some bar in the middle of nowhere, talking about how much better off they would be without me on the team* brooded Harry. Shrouded in his gloom, he didn't hear the low creak of the door as it opened. A shadowy figure slid into the darkness within the changing room and disappeared, as if by magic, from sight. 

*And here I am, sitting alone in the dark,* –he paused to listen, and then frowned as he heard a scuttling sound not far from him– *with nothing but rats to keep me company.* 

He shook his head and stood up. He wouldn't sit here in the dank darkness. He was filled with a sense of self-loathing as he cast his eyes around the shadowy changing room. A sudden motion caught his eye and he spun around. His eyes widened in shock, his hand groped instinctively for the wand tucked into his belt. But before he could utter a sound, the wand flew out of his hand as the short, balding man standing opposite him shouted "_Expelliarmus!_"

            Wormtail caught Harry's wand in his free hand, while continuing to point his own wand at Harry. Harry was suddenly, acutely aware of his solitude, and wished that he had left with the rest of the team. Without his wand, Harry was entirely at Wormtail's mercy. 

"An unexpected reward…", Wormtail mused. He smiled sinisterly at Harry as he continued, "The Dark Lord will be pleased…yes, very pleased indeed…How very like a rat you look, Harry Potter, cornered in the dark like this, with no scope for escape." At this he let out a shrill laugh. When he saw that Harry didn't look amused, Wormtail's face darkened. 

"How like your father…so arrogant, so secure in your confidence that no harm could possibly befall you. It is a pity," and as he said this, he tightened his grip on his wand, "that you should die in much the same way as he did, but at the hands of one less powerful than the Dark Lord."

            His mind working furiously, Harry fumbled desperately to find something that would give him more time. 

"B-but surely Voldemort would want to kill me himself", he stuttered, attempting in vain to speak with some amount of authority. The next thing he knew, he was flying across the changing room. He hit the wall with a chilling crunch, and crumpled to the floor. Wormtail surveyed the motionless body with contempt. "How dare you say the Dark Lord's name?", he spat. Kneeling down on the ground, he pressed his fingers against Harry's neck. He could feel a faint pulse, and he was relieved. Harry Potter had been right. His master, over the previous few years had been consumed by his obsession to destroy The Boy Who Lived. How pleased his master would be to have Harry Potter delivered to him in this fashion. It was more than he could ever have dreamed of. And it certainly meant that the original plan could now be abandoned, a plan that had been full of treacherous holes…a plan whose first step Wormtail had been sent to accomplish that night. Yes, Wormtail was very relieved. He hadn't liked the plan and he hadn't liked "that American" who had formulated the plan, and in doing so, had wormed his way into the Dark Lord's inner circle.  

            He stood up, and began to dust himself off. But when he heard a familiar voice behind him, his arm froze in midair. 

"What a pleasure to see you again, Peter. I've waited a long time for this," Sirius snarled, his arm outstretched and his wand pointed straight at Wormtail's chest. Beside him, in much the same stance stood a shabbily clad Remus, a menacing glint in his eyes. 

*****


	6. Chapter 6

            Alison walked back into her room exhausted and wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. So she was a bit surprised to find Paul sitting in her room, waiting for her. 

'Where were you' he demanded, before she had a chance to say anything. 

She ignored him. Seeing Brett again had been painful. All the cutting accusations that Oliver had thrown at her had come flooding back. She had spent the better part of the last two hours willing herself not to succumb to the onslaught of tears that were pricking relentlessly at the back of her eyelids. The last thing she needed was for Paul to get on her case for missing the opportunity to meet some incredibly influential and inevitably, boring celebrity. 

'Please leave, Paul,' she said, her voice breaking slightly. 

Paul looked carefully at her and realized that she was upset. 

Realizing that he couldn't forge ahead with his predetermined speech when she was in this state of mind, he decided to change tactics. He draped one arm comfortingly across her shoulders and brushed her hair off her forehead with the other. 

'What's the matter, Ally? Something happened…something bad?' he asked

While Alison realised and appreciated the fact that Paul was attempting to placate her, she didn't feel like being placated. She felt like sobbing until the tears stopped to flow. Too long had she bottled up her emotions. 

'Paul…it's hard for me to be back in England. I just need some time to myself.'

Paul clenched his fists in exasperation, and fumed inwardly. But on the exterior, he maintained his calm demeanour.

'Sure, Ally,' he crooned, 'just call me when you feel better alright?'

Alison said nothing, but it was no less than what Paul has expected from her. Without another word, he left the room. 

            No sooner had he stepped into the corridor than a man about his age came rushing up to him, looking as though all was right in the world. The expression on his freckled face struck Paul as being out of place as the English wizarding community as a whole was mourning the national team's loss earlier that night. The man clasped Paul's hand and whispered, 'Pettigrew has been apprehended…Peter Pettigrew, the man who has been believed to be dead for as long as I can remember. And sources say that he might lead us straight to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.' 

Paul looked at the man, an expression of utter bewilderment on his face. At first, the man looked shocked that this news did not send Paul into fits of excitement and then he chuckled. 

'You Americans don't know much about what happened here, do you? Never mind…let it just be said that the capture of this man might signal the end of the reign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' said the man condescendingly, before skipping away down the corridor, possibly in search of someone else to whom to impart the news. 

Paul walked quickly down the corridor in the opposite direction, and unlocked the door to his room. He stepped in and then shut the door behind him, throwing the room into pitch darkness. With a near animal howl of fury, he slammed his fist against the wall. 

*That BASTARD!* he thought. *All he had to do was watch that Potter. But, no, he had to go and royally fucking screw up the plan. He just HAD to! I told the Dark Lord that we couldn't trust him!*

He made as if to Apparate, but stopped as pain shot through his forearm like a bolt of lightning. He pulled up the sleeve of his robe, and glanced at the serpent's head that stood out jet black against his pale skin. A shudder ran up his spine. So the Dark Lord already knew. 


End file.
